


Rain on a Strange Roof

by bricoleur10



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Daryl feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Season 5, References to Past Child Abuse, That damn book
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 13:20:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3979495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bricoleur10/pseuds/bricoleur10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Daryl has some trouble adjusting to life in Alexandria, a trip outside the community’s walls goes all kinds of wrong, Rick’s worried, and Carl’s too smart for his own good. Established Rickyl.  </p><p>"<i>…all Daryl can and should do right then is kiss Rick. Kiss Rick until he can’t breathe. Kiss Rick until all the shadows of the dead are gone and there’s just Rick, with his light and his future and his hope. </i></p><p><i>Kiss Rick and never stop kissing him, not even if the world ends.</i>"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Rain on a Strange Roof**

***

Sometimes the others get distracted, get overly sure of themselves or excited, because they don’t understand how phenomenally fast everything can go to shit. This is exactly why Daryl doesn’t like taking the Alexandria folk out on hunts. They’ve been getting better these last few months – trying, they keep saying, _“We’re trying, alright, but we haven’t seen what you’ve seen. Haven’t lived what you’ve lived.”_ – and Daryl begrudgingly respects them their effort, but it’s not the same. So radically _not the same_ as going out on a run with Rick or Carol, or Glenn or Michonne, or Maggie – because those people, _his_ people? They know. 

They know how quick the world can fall apart out here.

***

“If Aaron’s taking this one off, what’s even the point of it?” Rick takes half a step forward, his clean shaven face still something Daryl has trouble looking at in full light. 

“Glenn’an me ‘re gonna take a few of these kids out, teach’em to track a little, maybe.” Daryl shrugs. “Glenn wants to show’em how to handle themselves, anyway.”

“And you think that’s a good idea?” 

“Fuck no.” Daryl snorts. “But Glenn’s aint backin’ down, and he’ll need backup.” 

“Well, fine.” Rick huffs, but Daryl can tell it’s not real anymore. “Go be a good person if ya gotta.” 

“I will if you will, Officer.”

***

They’ve got the basics down. Glenn’s telling them all _good job_ and Daryl doesn’t want to be the one to ruin that feeling for them. 

_“There’s stuff you survive and stuff you live for and you’ve gotta know the difference, Daryl, or this world’s gonna kill you long before any damn walker gets a chance.”_

He still hears it sometimes, in his head; things dead people had said to him, before they were dead. Beth, mostly, these days. But Tyreese, too. Hershel. Dale. T-Dog. Andrea. Lori. 

Merle. 

He likes to think that listening – or trying not to listen, as it happens more often than not when he remembers his big brother – makes him a better person. Makes him the kind of person that a man like Rick Grimes can call his own without bowing his head in shame. 

Of course, Rick’s never acted like that, like he’s ashamed; and these things that Daryl’s feeling are all probably shadows cast by the life he used to have. By the _abuse_ he’d suffered, once upon a time. 

That’s what the damn book had said, anyway. 

He’s still not entirely sure he buys it, but when the Alexandria people are happy and raucous in the middle of their first successful run, Daryl keeps his mouth shut. He doesn’t _project_ his own issues onto those around him. He _chooses_ to take a few breaths and steady himself, instead of giving in to his anger. 

The book might be right about a lot of stuff in the long term, but Daryl’s failed to take into consideration that it was written before the beginning of the apocalypse, and certain things are just more important these days.

***

“Dammit.” He hisses, pacing back and forth in their makeshift shelter. 

“It’s not their fault, Daryl,” Glenn tries to soothe him, but it’s like taming something wild; not even a jungle cat or a rabid dog, like the metaphor should probably go. More like the wind or a brushfire. Nothing to do but ride it out and try to minimize the damage. 

“Nah, man, it’s fucking _ours_.” He spits. The Alexandria people are sat with their backs to the walls like Daryl showed them, clasping weapons in untrained hands. “For goin’ out like this. _Me. My_ fault. This aint my bag’a tricks, man, teaching the ropes to a bunch’a fuckin’ kids playin’ at livin’ in the end of the world.” 

One of the men, probably older than Daryl and Glenn both, doesn’t manage to suppress his rage at this comment. “Hey!”

“Man, _shut up_.” Glenn sounds so exasperated with the guy that it’s almost funny. But also kind of not, because Daryl knows that tone all too well. 

_If you stay quiet and do exactly what he wants, maybe nothing bad will happen tonight._

Only Glenn’s not afraid of him like that. 

He doesn’t think. 

“This is yours and Rick’s thing. Tara an’ them. Teachin’. Patience. All’a that. I just wanna get in’an out. No bullshit.” He rubs his hand over his face. “Shit.” He takes a breath and tries to count to ten. 

He makes it to three. 

Stupid fucking book. 

“How’s that bullet wound?” Glenn asks eventually, and Daryl thinks it might just be to fill the silence. 

“Fine.” The hunter grunts. “Just a graze.” 

“You should try to get some rest before morning.” Glenn suggests. Daryl fixes him with a stare that pretty much speaks for itself. “Seriously.” He presses anyway. “It’s gonna be a while before we get back. We might need you.” 

“Of course you will.” Daryl snaps. After all, it’s basically just the two of them out here. The two of them with babysitting duties. Only that’s not even fair, because Carl and Judith both make better hunting companions than a single one of these good for nothing townie _fucks_. 

And maybe he’s thinking less about Alexandria and more about _before_. 

Only Alexandria is a lot like before, because that’s the damn point, isn’t it?

“How’re you holdin’ up, man?” He hadn’t been the only one taking blows back there. Even a few of the others had gotten some licks in, he has to admit. 

“I’ll live.” Glenn smiles a little, and then almost laughs. “Maggie’s gonna kill me.”

***

Alexandria had come together after Rick had killed Pete. They’d come together _around_ Rick, like people are apt to, and Daryl’s wondering what it’s like there now. 

Him and Glenn had vowed to be back before nightfall when they’d set out with the others. That was almost two nights ago now. They’re set to return today, because the last thing they need is more of them out here getting their asses beat by a group of men who remind Daryl far too much of The Claimers for comfort. 

Bunch of high horse assholes thinking they don’t have to abide by the rules anymore. Because there’s always rules. His or someone else’s. People say there’s not anymore, with the world the way it is. Hell, he’s probably said it him damn self, sure bet Rick probably has. Truth is, it’s just different. Men like Daryl – men who had been wild back when the rest of mankind had been civilized – they have different rules, a different order. 

Don’t start a fight just to start a fight, for one. Got enough things out there set on killing you, anyway. Don’t fucking make this _harder_. 

But the others back at Alexandria, they won’t know. Won’t know until Glenn and Daryl tell them. And Daryl doesn’t know how long they’ll wait before they start wandering out on their own looking for them. If they haven’t already. 

Carol and Rick. Michonne and Maggie. They’d have been the first. Maybe not to start the run (Rick protects them now, behind those walls, he’s law, Michonne, too) but to suggest it. To start insisting. 

Going back sooner would have made sense for a lot of reasons – they’re hurt, half their group can’t fight worth a damn, they don’t know this area as well as they’d known Georgia, and they’re nearly out of amo – but staying gone longer is more important for one very important reason. 

“If they track us back to Alexandria it’ll be all hell breakin’ loose all over again.” They both remember The Governor. “We can’t risk that just for us.” 

Glenn agrees without protest, and silences the few who try. Daryl hears him later, explaining it in ways that might make sense to someone who hasn’t seen yet, who doesn’t _know_ , but Daryl doesn’t listen. 

He’s already well-informed, thanks very much. 

So they stay away, cover their paces, and make damn sure no one will be able to track them back to their new…well, Daryl’s loathe to call it a home, but Rick’s there, so he supposes the title will have to do for now.

***

“It’ll be easier for ya if you’re up, on your knees.” 

Being an expert on anything other than hunting and killing is a new thing for Daryl, and moreover this is _Rick_. Rick looking up at him, mouth half-open and breathing hard, trust shining bright beside the lust in his gaze. 

“Don’t care,” he insists, pulling damn near frantically at Daryl’s shoulder, trying to recreate the friction of their cocks together. “Wanna see you.” 

“I don’t-” _wanna hurt you, wanna be that important to you, want this to be more than it is, wanna get lost in you._ “-okay.” He nods a few times, hair falling into his face until Rick pushes it back. “Okay.” 

The prison’s never silent. There’s always echoing footsteps, weapons being loaded, quiet but carrying words as one person takes over watch and showers running as the other retires for the night, or morning, or whatever time of day it might be. But right now, together in Rick’s cell, Daryl’s loathe to hear anything save their breathing, their sweat slicked skin moving together, the racing of both their hearts. 

It was a slow build and nothing of the sort that gotten them here. They’d been dancing around this for months now, maybe even longer, gentle touches and hidden moments, trust and more trust building up, leading them here. Thing is, Daryl’d been oblivious to the whole crescendo; only getting clued in near the end when Rick had said it to him, said it blunt and nervous, a little afraid, and then all at once Daryl had been there. 

Delayed reactions get you killed in this world now – and in Daryl’s world always – but this wasn’t life and death. Well, it wasn’t death, at any rate. It was life. It _is_ life. A new one between him and Rick. 

Rick’s got one leg up over his shoulder, and the other’s bent and pressed out. From his vantage point above him, Daryl can see everything. The way his balls are drawn up tight, promising a hefty release as soon as it’s offered up; the way he’s willingly got one arm over his head and gripping the edge of the mattress, like he _trusts_ Daryl enough with this to be vulnerable; and his ass, that beautiful, miraculous ass that’s open and ready for his dick, a place he never would have thought he’d be allowed. 

The first press inside has Rick’s hands clenching into tight fists – one on the bed and the other on Daryl’s shoulder, hard enough to bruise. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” the hunter soothes immediately, a facet of himself he’d barely remembered existed before today springing out without concern. “Breathe, darlin’, breathe through it or it’s gonna hurt.”

“So full,” Rick pants, and with his head thrown back and the long column of his neck exposed, Daryl can’t really be blamed for leaning forward and taking a nip. And when that nip becomes more than a nip, when it’s almost a bite and definitely a bruise, hard enough to leave a mark for days to come, Rick’s cock pulses between them, and Daryl knows something then, something a person can only learn in a moment like this. 

“You’re mine, Rick.” Daryl says it into his neck, licking over the spot he’d just made, and the older man’s hips buck. “All mine now.” 

“Yes,” he agrees, the word drawn out as he releases a breath. Daryl feels the tension in Rick’s ass settle some, and he’s moving in the same moment their leader asks it of him. 

He thrusts in a steady rhyme until Rick starts arcing restlessly and whining; that’s when Daryl takes both his wrists and pins them to the bed above his head, that’s when Daryl starts thrusting so deep his balls press against Rick’s ass, that’s when he starts aiming for that special little bundle of nerves inside of him. 

When Rick comes, it’s damn near screaming and bent nearly off the bed. When Daryl follows him a few thrusts later, it’s with the older man’s name on his lips and feeling like he’s finally, after all this time (his whole life), found a home somewhere.

***

They meet Morgan about a mile outside of Alexandria, and Daryl can’t escape the fact that he’s glad to see the man. 

When Daryl and Aaron had first met Morgan, the hunter had trusted him almost immediately and almost completely – a rare feat for anyone these days – and it hadn’t just been about him saving their asses.

He doesn’t want to call it instinct, because those have lead him wrong before, but there’s no denying that that’s exactly what it is. Morgan’s got sorrow and strength built up higher than anyone he’s ever met, and when he sees Rick’s name on that map a few minutes after they meet, he can’t even say he’s surprised. 

He’d known then, with damn near certainty, that Morgan was going to become a part of them. And later, when he’d heard the whole story from Rick and the man himself, he’d just believed it more. 

The first person you trust after the world ends becomes a part of you, forever, and in some ways, Rick’s been searching for this man for years. Daryl can’t even begrudge him stabbing Rick that one time they’d met up after Rick’s first day in this world, because grief can turn you into a lot of things, chief among them someone you don’t recognize and aren’t too fond of. 

Since his arrival, Morgan _has_ become a part of them – of Rick’s people, though not necessarily Alexandria’s. He’s still on the fence when it comes to the community, and that’s something, at least, that him and Daryl have in common. In fact, besides Carol (who’s got something with the man that Daryl doesn’t feel right putting a name on just yet), Daryl seems to get along with the loner better than anybody else. Even Rick. 

“You’ve got your people besides themselves worrying.” Morgan tells them, handing out water bottles like Santa Claus. “Anybody bit?” 

It’s always Morgan’s first question, even though they all know better these days than to hide something like that. Daryl wonders how long his son – Dwayne – had hidden his bite. 

“No.” Glenn answers for the group. “Daryl got shot.” 

“It’s a scratch.” Daryl repeats his mantra for Morgan, and it’s not like he’s lying. He’s had shit tons worse than this. Hell, tumbling down into that creek and getting stabbed with his own arrow (and then shot in the head by Andrea) back at the farm had been ten times worse than anything he’s sporting now. Walking miles to Terminus with The Claimers’ bruisers hitching his every step had been hell. Compared to hurts he’d had before, this is cake. 

_“Man up, baby brother, got worse comin’ your way.”_

One day, Daryl’s going to stop waiting for _worse_. He’d promised Rick as much, and he really is trying.

“What happened?” Morgan asks. 

Glenn and a few of the others tell the story – a group of hardened men picking fights in order to claim supplies and cause more hurt than needed – but Daryl doesn’t listen. Three of the nine men they’d met had been killed – two by Daryl, one by Glenn. Three more, at least, of the others had been injured severely. It had been a herd of walkers that had ultimately ended the fight. 

Daryl likes to think that if they hadn’t been interrupted he and Glenn would have killed them all. 

He used to think he was a monster for killing. Long before the world had ended, he’d thought himself a devil on earth for putting a bullet in his daddy’s heart – even if the sick sunnova bitch had deserved it a thousand times over, even if Merle had thanked him for it with a genuineness that Daryl had never seen from his brother before or after that moment.

The first walker he’d ever come across, he’d shot it right in the head. He’s always been a crack shot. It’d taken him and Merle weeks to figure out that nothing else would work, anyway, and by then it hadn’t mattered. But his daddy…his daddy he’d shot in the heart. Book would probably call that something like _symbolism_.

“Everything goes to shit quick these days.” He’s staring at the Alexandria folks when he says it. Marty, Alex, Declan, Grace, and Todd. He knows their names, of course he knows their names. But names make it personal, and he’s not ready for that yet. “Do good to remember that.” 

Morgan and Glenn understand exactly what lesson he’s trying to teach. The others seem to get it now, too. They’ll return home a little wearier, with scars and stories and nightmares. They’ll sleep with weapons in reach and, if they’re lucky, find comfort in their kin. 

Daryl had never in his life been the type to seek comfort, to _rely_ on other people for his mental wellbeing. Book says that’s because he’d never had anyone to rely on for his _physical_ wellbeing. Formative years filled with empty promises and hurt. 

These days he finds himself, and he knows this is fucked up, but he finds himself almost _wishing_ for injuries. Nothing serious, mind, just a hurt he can’t quite hide (like a burn on his hand when any other body part covered by clothing would have done just fine). He wishes for this, because he knows Rick will be there for him when it happens. 

He wishes, because he craves comfort so bad that he fucking aches with it, dreams about it, almost wants to cry for it. And it’s fucked up, it’s so fucked up, but he wants to hurt so Rick can be there, so Rick can take it away, because Rick will – if Daryl can’t hide it well enough, Rick will press and push and pull until Daryl lets him in, and Daryl wants that, wants it so bad, but he can’t ask for it. He _can’t._

_“Only us now, Daryl. Only us in this world and you better get used to not counting on anybody else.”_

***

“You gotta sleep sometime.” Rick says to him, three days after Merle dies. 

“Yeah,” Daryl agrees, because sure he does. Sleep happens whether he wants it or not, just doesn’t last long. 

Rick crouches down in front of him, and Daryl flinches back a little. Rick sees it, senses maybe that his stance is too imposing, because he lowers himself beside the younger man after that, puts them shoulder to shoulder without actually touching, and Daryl unwinds some. 

“Merle made his choice to protect us. To protect _you_.” Rick says it like Daryl doesn’t already know, like he hasn’t been playing the whole thing out over and over since the minute he’d put his brother down. 

“Yeah. He did.” Daryl says it listlessly, no emotion of any kind. He’s been like this for a while now. His anger’s all burned up, and it’d taken his fight with it. He can only hope that he’ll get it back, because he doesn’t much like the thought of dying in a cage. 

“What can I do?” Rick asks. He runs a hand roughly over his stubble and pleads, “just tell me what to do for you. _Please_.” 

Daryl hates to hear Rick begging like this, sounding so broken. He knows it’s his job to keep them safe – keep _Rick_ safe so he can go on leading them all through this – but he just can’t do it right now. 

Rick shifts a little so their shoulders are touching, and Daryl goes still and rigid but doesn’t move. Rick waits a few beats and then moves farther, rests his head on Daryl’s shoulder and snakes his arm behind his back. 

Daryl’s breath hitches. His hands clench absently; wanting but refusing to take. They sit like that until Maggie comes to find Rick, needing his help with something, and Daryl lets him pull away, of course he does, but it’s with a lead weight in his gut and bile in his throat.

Later that night Rick crawls into his bed and wraps himself around the younger man, chest pressed up against his back. There’s no buildup to it, no talking or hesitance. It just _is_. Because Rick decides. 

Daryl goes stiff and makes to pull away, but Rick shushes him gently. 

“Don’t gotta fight me.” He whispers, burying his face in the crook of Daryl’s neck and tightening the grip he’s got around his waist. “Just lemme be here. Ain't no crime in wantin’ this.” 

Daryl thinks it might be the biggest crime of them all, actually, but he doesn’t say that. Rick’s the closest thing to law that any of them have anymore, so if he says something is alright…well, it doesn’t make it alright, but it does make him panic a little less. 

_“I don’t know why my husband trusts you so much, Daryl, but he does, and that’s on you. I swear to god if you let anything happen to him I’ll kill you myself.”_

_“He’s all grown, y’know that?” He snorts. “Big boy who’an take care of ‘imself.”_

_She takes a step closer, trying with all her might to be threatening; it would’ve been affective, even, had anyone besides Daryl been standing in front of her. “This whole group depends on him, and that’s on his shoulders. But his life? His safety? That’s on you, Daryl. That’s always gonna be on you.”_

“It’s on me,” he says now, remembering Lori’s words clearly. They hadn’t meant as much to him then as they should have, and they mean more now than anything else ever will. 

“What? Merle’s death?” Ricks asks, still quiet and holding him, with one hand running through his hair trying to soothe. And maybe Daryl lets it. “You know it’s not.” 

“Him, you, this place.” He doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore. Everything’s all twisted around and confusing. “I dunno, man, I can’t even-”

“Hey, shh,” Rick pulls him closer still, closer than Daryl thought they could even be. “Sleep, alright? Nothin’s gonna make sense ‘til you get a little shut eye.” 

“But it’s on me.” Daryl shakes his head, which just causes Rick’s fingers to get even more tangled up in his hair. “You an’ Merle. It’s…don’t wanna fuck it up.” 

“You won’t, alright?” Rick whispers. “I promise. Just let it be on both of us for a little while. For tonight. Please.” 

Daryl wants to protest, but he’s so tired he can barely breathe, and with Rick’s weight solid and warm behind him, something like peace washes over him, and the hunter can’t bring himself to fight it anymore. 

Maybe the world won’t end all over again just because he accepts a little comfort.

***

When they get back its high noon, and no one’s gathered around waiting for them. Probably would be, if it were nightfall again, but certain things are supposed to happen at certain times – reunions, deaths, revelations – and when reality gets in the way of perceptions, everybody’s left feeling a little out of place. 

The Alexandria people scatter back to their own, and Maggie’s the first person in their group to find them. Glenn’s sitting on their porch taking his shoes off when she runs up to him, nearly knocking him over with her hugs and babbling relief. 

“Easy, girly,” Daryl says with a grin that’s almost real. “Your hubby’s all beat up.” 

Glenn shoots him a spectacularly nasty glare over his wife’s shoulder, only to have her pulling back a moment later and demanding explanations. As Glenn starts going into it all over again, Daryl takes a few steps back. Morgan had gone to inform the others of their safe return, and now that Glenn’s attention is off him, Daryl escapes to be by himself for the first time in days. 

He likes going on runs with Aaron because the other man doesn’t press him to talk if he doesn’t feel like it. Rick’s like that, too; though where Rick will stay silent at his side unless there’s something he really feels needs to be discussed, Aaron will talk enough for the both of them. He won’t demand, or even expect, answers, but he seems to like the words. 

That’s only when they’re together, though. A lot of what they do demands splitting up – after they find a target (someone they want to recruit), Aaron will approach him or her or them, and Daryl will hang back, watching and protecting; intervening only if Aaron sends the signal. That hasn’t happened yet, but they’ve only done three runs since they’ve been here. 

Daryl likes being alone, always has (raised in isolation), but he’s finding that coming back here after days or weeks out there almost makes him feel normal. He opens up once he’s been on his own for so long. He’s found himself talking to Rick more than he ever has before, taking an interest in Carl’s life like he’s never been sure (still isn’t entirely sure, but no one’s stopped him yet) he’s got a right to, and dotting on ‘lil asskicker. Even Carol, Glenn and Maggie, and Michonne have been witness to this new side of him. 

Michonne had said things like this happen when you start feeling safe. 

Carol had said she’s never seen him calmer. 

And then there’s Rick. 

_“I hate when you’re out there, because I’m not out there with you, and you’re not in here with me. Got used to having you right beside me, all the time. But…but I get it, Daryl. I really do. I have to be in here, with these people. Me an’ Michonne, we’ve gotta try to make this work. But you can’t do that. You can’t stay still in a place like this. And if goin’ out and recruiting with Aaron is what’s going to keep you with us, keep you comin’ home…hell, keep you comin’ home happy like this? Then I ain’t gonna fight it. Don’t even want to.”_

Daryl believes those words because he knows Rick had believed them when he’d said them, but he also can’t help but figure that it’s only a matter of time until Rick reverts back into who he was _before_. 

Until he finds himself a nice woman, a mom for Carl and Judith, and ends this whatever-the-fuck-it-is with Daryl. Until he goes back to normal. 

Daryl’s long since accepted that nothing good lasts for long, and he’s mostly okay with just riding this thing with Rick out for as long as the Sherriff lets him. He ain’t gonna take away the man’s chance at happily ever after, but until Rick starts asking for it he’s sure as fuck not gonna start suggesting it, either. 

It’s not that Daryl doesn’t think he _deserves_ to be happy, he just knows how shit like this works. And he won’t fight, no matter what the damn book says he should do, because fighting something like that would cost him everything. And he’s lost that way too many times to count already.

***

Now that Pete is dead, Alexandria has to make do with a two kids who’d been premed before the end of the world, as far as health concerns go. Maggie helps, too, with what she’d learned from Hershel, but even the three of them together don’t equal a full-fledged doctor. 

They have supplies here, though, more than Daryl was used to having on hand before or after the apocalypse, and he figures that’s enough for most of their needs, and he doesn’t quite get why the others are so scared about it. He’d gone his whole life without visiting a doctor more than once or twice – and even then only ever under duress – and he’s just fine. But then, that’s one of those things he doesn’t say to anybody else, even Rick, because he knows something about his views on the matter aren’t quite right. 

He might let Maggie take a look at his injuries later, if Rick presses it and she smiles in that certain way she has that reminds him of Beth, but for now he’s just fine tending to himself on his own. 

The bullet that Glenn keeps harping on about had grazed his side, a few inches above his hip bone. It’s an awkward angle to stitch up on his own, so Daryl settles for removing the makeshift bandage he’d stuck over it while they’d been out, and getting in the shower. 

When they’d first gotten here, Daryl had refused to wash himself for a lot of reasons. Mainly, taking a shower would have felt like giving in. Like accepting that this is where they were going to be for a long time yet and that these people were worth cleaning up for, worth presenting himself for. 

Rick hadn’t wanted to come here and Daryl had thought for a long time that their stay was going to be a temporary one; but, in the end, finding a home for his kids had proved more powerful a motivator than his own instincts, and they’d begun the process of planting roots. 

Daryl hadn’t been sure for a long time after that if he was going to stay. 

He’d wanted to for a lot of reasons – Rick, mainly, but for the boy and the baby, too, and for Carol and the others – but he’d also known, known like he still knows, that he doesn’t fit in this cookie cutter little suburbia any better than he would have before the end of the world. And that’s got nothing to do with his daddy or his brother – that’s just the way he is. Way he’d be even if, in some alternate reality, he’d been _born_ into this world. Some things run deeper than instinct. 

But his own desire to stay with Rick and the others is stronger than some unnamable tension he feels in this place, and going out with Aaron has been a suitable middle ground. All he’s gotta do now is get used to it. To take what he can before it all ends. Once Rick calls it quits, he’ll see about moving on. Maybe Carol will be sick of making up stories by then and want to come with him. 

He’d stayed dirty for a long time after they’d gotten here, but once he’d settled into this new world, he’d remembered that showering was a luxury and he’d taken great pains to treat it as such. That first one with Rick had been something like a revelation, and he remembers the tears burning at his eyes, knowing that this was the beginning of the end of everything he’d managed to piece together for himself. He remembers holding Rick close so he couldn’t see. He remembers getting on his knees and taking the older man’s cock in his mouth for the first time in months, and he remembers Rick’s absolution as he’d come hard in less time than was decent.

Showering now is nothing like it had been then. He goes about it mechanically – washing away the threat of infection and tending to his aches. He doesn’t remember a time after the prison had fallen that he’d been without bruises, but a few he’s sporting now are worse than he’s seen on himself since before he’d killed his father. 

It’s not right that he always remembers how to be hurt. No fucking book needs to tell him that.

***

**End Part 1**


	2. Part 2

**Part 2**

***

***

“Fuck, Daryl.”

The hunter had heard him coming, but still isn’t quite ready for the sorrow in his voice. 

With only a towel knotted around his hips, Daryl’s about as exposed as he can be, and Rick’s the only person who’s seen him this naked in years, the only person he’s _okay_ with being vulnerable around. 

“Ain’t that bad,” he shrugs, even though it _is_. It really is that bad. “Don’t look at me like that.” 

Daryl’s caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror, and there’s a lifetime of hurt in his gaze. In his defense, Rick manages to cover it up pretty quick, settling on the concern of a lover over the pity of the innocent. 

“Gonna let Julia or Andy take a look at that?” Rick asks casually enough, but his fingers are twitching and Daryl knows he’s just barely restraining his own searching touches. 

“Maybe Maggie.” He shrugs, and then wants to groan. The relief of being back here, of looking after his hurts, had reminded his body of them. No adrenaline to fight away the pain here in their safe zone. “If ya really wanna hear someone tell ya I’m fine.” 

“ _Fine_ doesn’t usually look like you’ve gone ten rounds in a ring.” Rick points out, and takes a step closer. His body gets engulfed by the steam in the bathroom, and that makes Daryl calmer for some reason. 

“You haven’t shaved since we’ve been gone.” He notices the scruff on his lover’s face, and god if that’s not a weight out of his gut. 

“You like a little stubble.” Rick smiles, maybe just at using the word _stubble_. “Thought you’d appreciate it once you came home.” 

_Home_ , Daryl repeats to himself. _Home_ , and the certainty that he’d return. “You got a lot of faith in me, Grimes.” 

“Yeah.” Rick agrees easily, not picking the fight that Daryl had set up, not even seeing it, as far as the hunter can tell. 

“Glenn give y’all the details?” He asks, trying a different tactic. 

“Told us you guys fought off some rough folk.” Rick takes another step closer to him. Daryl doesn’t move. “Said that you nearly died protecting Alexandria’s people, even though you never stopped bitching about them being around.” He swallows heavily, and the steam in the bathroom seems to get thicker. “Carol said I should probably leave you alone for a while. She right?” 

And that’s something that Daryl loves and hates about this man, his man: Rick will almost always ask. Even if he thinks he knows, he’ll ask. Even if he’s right, he’ll ask. 

Daryl looks down, and fists the two corners of the white cotton towel tight in his fist. He shrugs again, and that’s all the answer Rick apparently needs. 

Seconds later strong hands are on his shoulders. Then running down his sides, soft so as not to cause more hurt. Daryl had already bandaged the flesh wound on his side, after cleaning it with a disinfectant wash that all the house bathrooms apparently come stocked with, but the rest of his injuries (old and new) are on display. 

“Carl hasn’t said two words to anyone since you guy’s’ve been gone.” Rick shares, cataloging all his injuries with feather-like fingers. “He’s gonna act like he’s mad at you, but that’s just ‘cause he’s been worried.” 

Daryl appreciates the heads up and the insight. He always does. 

“And I think Judith should sleep in here with us tonight.” 

Daryl’s breath hitches. ‘Lil asskicker had gotten a crib all her own once they’d gotten here, and it stays in Carl’s room more often than not. The last time Rick had switched it up had been right after he’d shot Pete, the presence of his daughter an added and needed comfort. 

“You ain’t that shook up, are ya?” Daryl asks, closing his eyes briefly and letting his hands settle at his lover’s waist. 

“I thought you were dead.” 

Daryl’s blood runs cold, and he looks away. 

“Hey,” Rick ducks his head to catch his gaze, and Daryl meets it with guilty eyes, chewing on his bottom lip. “Not your fault.” 

“Coulda come back,” he mutters, knowing it’s not true, but wanting to take some of the blame. 

“You were protecting us. You and Glenn both were. That’s what we do.” Rick sounds firm, like his word is law, even if those last few words had been Daryl’s first. 

“Didn’t mean ta…sorry.” He says eventually. It doesn’t feel like enough. 

Rick shakes his head and pulls Daryl closer to him, until their hips and foreheads are pressed together. “Love you, ya know that?” 

Daryl nods and closes his eyes. He’s said it back a few times, but he can’t bring himself to more often than not. He hates himself for it, because he knows that those words are a few of the only that Rick needs to hear, that he longs for. 

“Which was it?” Daryl asks. 

Rick goes, “Hmm?” mostly stuck on staring at his bruises. 

“Ya think I was dead or ya knew I was comin’ back?” He doesn’t know why he has to ask, and when his lover’s gazes fixes on his again he wishes he hadn’t. 

“Daryl…” Rick trails off, sounding pained. “Both.” 

Because Rick Grimes always answers the question put in front of him. 

Daryl looks away and thinks about accepting that some things are unconditional. Thinks about how some things are _supposed_ to be unconditional, and how hard that is sometimes for people like him. 

“I love you, too.” 

Rick’s kisses taste deceptively like happily ever after.

***

When Rick seeks comfort, when he needs it, Daryl doesn’t hesitate in giving it to him.

Sometimes Carl will look at his daddy and all Rick can see it the hardness there, the fact that he’s gotten used to this world, and it breaks his heart. Daryl tries, in those moments, to pull his lover away from those thoughts – with a hug or a joke or a hand job; different times call for different balms, but it’s always Daryl right there at his side, mending what he can and accepting what he can’t. 

When Rick remembers that Judith will never know her mother – even if she’s got some good substitutes in the women of their group – sometimes Rick cries, and sometimes that makes Daryl feel a world of guilt – because if Lori hadn’t died, he and Rick wouldn’t be what they are, and he never wants to think the word _glad_ , but sometimes he feels it. 

On those nights, Daryl will hold ‘lil asskicker until she falls asleep, and then he’ll make love to Rick in a way that really is _making_ and _love_ , and most of the time, by morning, everything will be at least a little better.

It’s never crossed Daryl’s mind to _not_ give Rick anything he needs to make his life easier, even if it’s only just for a while, and he knows that it’s screwed as fuck that he can’t always accept Rick giving him the same things that he so readily offers, but that’s also just the way it is. 

_“That’s on you, Daryl. That’s always gonna be on you.”_

When they crawl into bed together that night (earlier than they usually do, but Daryl is tired and Rick won’t be away from him), the sheriff’s hands immediately lay claim over the hunter’s body. Judith is making soft snuffling sounds in her crib, and they can both hear voices drifting in from outside. It almost feels safe. 

“I was so worried.” Rick whispers into the dark. He’s propped on his side facing Daryl, who’s flat on his back staring at the ceiling. Rick’s hand alternates between resting over his heart and running up and down his stomach and side, careful (always so careful) not to add to his pain. “I kept tellin’ Carl that there wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle, and that you’d come back to us just fine, but I didn’t know. And he didn’t believe me, at least not completely. We both know how fast everything can turn to shit out there.” 

Daryl snorts a little. “Tha’s what I kept trying to get them to understand.” 

“Well, at least they’ll get it now.” And there’s a smile in his voice, Daryl can hear it without looking. 

They go quiet again. Daryl’s thinking through some things; thinking about that damn book and the look on Carol’s face when she’d seen him grab it, about the first time Rick had seen his scars and how he’d kissed every one of them, about Merle’s twenty-sixth birthday and the smell of fresh blood pouring out of his daddy’s heart, about Beth saying _“You’re gonna miss me so bad when I’m gone”_ and how she couldn’t have possibly known how right she was. 

“Hey,” Rick catches his attention with barely a breath. He always can. “You’re gone somewhere.” 

Daryl swallows and closes his eyes. “Coupla days after we got’in here, this place,” he starts, not sure at all where he’s going, but hoping he’ll figure it out if he keeps talking, “you said that you were gonna believe in bein’ here enough for both of us. Said tha’ it was time to stop playin’ dead, and that if I wasn’t ready to, you’d wait it out.” 

Rick’s breath hitches, and Daryl’s not sure why; he’s nervous about that not-knowing, until Rick says, “I wasn’t sure you were gonna stay with us, Daryl. Sometimes…sometimes you get this look, like you’re trapped and, and dying, and I’m still not sure.”

They hadn’t talked about it since the night Rick had said _time to stop playing dead_ , but of course he’s picked up on Daryl’s feelings. More often than not, Rick can recognize those better than Daryl himself can. It’s no shocker to him that they’re having this conversation. 

“Don’ wanna leave.” He admits, and knows in the same moment he says it that it’s the truth. He wonders if Rick had known first. Probably. “I hate it here, sometimes. I really do. More’an…more than you can know. More’an I’d want ya to, but…but that’s only this _place_ , Rick. I swear. It ain’t you. You or them kids or anybody else, it’s just _here_.”

He doesn’t usually talk this much. It’s making him dizzy. 

“Look’at me.” Rick demands, pressing his hand over Daryl’s neck. The hunter does, because why wouldn’t he? Rick’s gaze is filled with understanding and fear and warmth. “We could…we could find another place. Build our own. Just our group. Not in a place like this, with walls and houses, but somewhere else. Like the prison or the farm. I know you gotta miss-”

But what he’s gotta miss Daryl will never know for sure, because the need to kiss Rick senseless has got him launching himself into the other man’s space; near tackling him back onto the bed, making him _humph_ comically as his eyes go wide, ignoring the frayed edges of his mind and body, because all Daryl can and should do right then is kiss Rick. Kiss Rick until he can’t breathe. Kiss Rick until all the shadows of the dead are gone and there’s just _Rick_ , with his light and his future and his hope. 

Kiss Rick and never stop kissing him, not even if the world ends. 

“Hey, easy,” Rick’s got his hands on his shoulders, eyes glazed with want and heavy with concern. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.” 

“Been hurt for years.” Daryl shakes his head, and grabs both of Rick’s wrists and holds them steady so he can get back to his mouth, so he can kiss him until they’re both gasping for breath and then pull his bottom lip through his teeth, in that way he loves to do because it always makes Rick shudder. “Don’t hurt now.” He finishes the thought. 

Rick shifts them a little so Daryl’s between his legs, their bodies slotted together like a bow in an arrow; pulled tight and ready to shoot. 

The sheriff’s hips buck up as Daryl’s roll down, just like symmetry. “God,” Rick breathes. “I missed you.” 

_Missin’ you_ sex is a sort that Daryl’s gotten to know well since they came to Alexandria. _Thought you were gonna die_ sex is a sort he’d grown used to back at the beginning of this world. Mixing them together creates an intensity that’s got Daryl hiding his face in Rick’s neck and trying real hard not to think about anything except the smell of him there, the feel of their hard cocks pressing into one another, the soft pull of worm fabric between them. 

He’s panting and thrusting and desperate within minutes. “Rick,” he gasps. 

Even this doesn't make his mind stay still. 

Back at the prison one time, Maggie had been in a mood; something or another having to do with Glenn. She’d been resentful and angry (lost and scared), and for whatever ass backwards reason, she’d chosen to lean all her worries against Daryl. 

Daryl’s never been much of a talker, and certainly not about feelings – his or anyone else’s – but he’d been in a mood himself, at the time, and he’d decided to add his two bits. 

_“That boy would give you the world if you asked ‘im for it.” He says it with a small smile that he’s pretty sure he means. “Don’t go knockin’ commitment like that, a’ight?”_

_Maggie thinks on his words for a long time. When she’s done she might have decided something, but Daryl’s not about to go asking for the details. Person’s thoughts are private unless they tell you otherwise, far as he’s concerned._

_“You know Rick feels the same way about you, right?” She asks a little later, when the silence has stretched long enough between them that their shift on watch is nearly done._

_Daryl ducks his head and bites his lip._

_“Hey,” Maggie tilts down until their eyes meet. “It’s true, Daryl. He’d do anything for you. Anything you asked.”_

_Daryl decides right then that he never wants to know just how true Maggie’s words are._

It doesn’t take a genius to see that Rick’s attached to him – hell, even a Dixon can figure that out. It’s probably just as obvious that Daryl’s equally devoted. Underneath that truth, though, there’s always this nagging certainty that this thing they have is something that Rick needs _right now_ , but not something he’ll need always. 

_“You're a joke is what you are. Playin' errand boy to a bunch of pansy-asses, n-”_

_“Shuddup, Merle.”_ He hadn’t said it then, but he screams it now. Loud as he can inside his head. 

Daryl’s trying like hell to get himself to stop listening to Merle, to stop believing that Rick’s just waiting for something better, he is; thing is, so long as that’s the truth, he’ll hurt a little less when the time comes for them to go their separate ways. 

“Stop lookin’ like that.” Rick’s harsh words cut through the hunter’s thoughts, and all but demolish the place he’d let his mind wander yet again. 

“What?” He asks, and his voice is rough and needy because they’re still rocking together like a couple of horny teenagers. 

“Stop looking at me like _I’m_ the one who’s gonna disappear.” He sounds almost angry, and Daryl’s stomach drops. His first instinct is to shy away from that voice, to do anything to appease it. But he’s not like that anymore – he’s a grown ass man who kills things and people both every damn day, and he’s not going to flinch away just because his _partner_ had picked up on his internal doubt. 

Instead, he growls deep in his throat and presses even harder into the man below him. He captures his lips in a rough kiss that’s more knocking teeth than anything else. He gets all his attention on Rick and makes sure to keep it there. 

The older man’s eyes go wide, a touch of anger still mixing with the arousal and need there. 

“You wan’ me’ta stop?” Daryl asks thickly, because pushing back against his past won’t ever turn him into the men from it. He’d rather be the biggest pussy bitch in the world than ever be like that. 

Rick squeezes his eyes shut tight and rocks his hips forward. He shakes his head back and forth on the pillow, and while Daryl’s pretty sure that means he’s alright to keep going, he slows down his thrusts until one of Rick’s hands shoots out and latches tight onto Daryl’s bicep, the other snaking it’s way over his shoulder. He’s pulling at the hunter with actual force when he says, “Don’t. Don’t stop. Fuck, don’t ever stop.” 

So Daryl doesn’t. 

He thrusts down hard, matching Rick’s rhythm and then upping it. Their friction builds to the point where nothing else matters – Daryl’s doubts or Rick’s anger - it’s all lost in their desperate need to find release. 

Then, when they’re both so close they can just about taste it, Daryl drops most of his weight onto his left forearm and snakes his right hand between their bodies. He fumbles for only a second before securing both their erections in his grip. 

Rick cries out and throws his head back. Daryl twists his hand none too gently and just like that Rick’s coming hard. The feel of his spunk, hot and wet between them, is enough to push Daryl over the edge, too. 

He doesn’t remember what he says in the moment he comes undone, but it really doesn’t take a genius to figure out that it’d probably been the name of the man he loves.

***

His mother had once told him that limbo was hating yourself.

That it was being too afraid to make a decision and too stubborn to admit that not doing anything was a choice all it's own. 

Daryl had been too young to really understand her words for what they'd been - a goodbye - but the fire that had eaten her alive had spelled it out for him clear enough a few weeks later. 

Most of the time, when he thinks about his ma, he only remembers wisps: a battered t-shirt, an unlit cigarette, an off-key note sung at midnight. And his father, too. His daddy's rage and his ma's life had always been one in the same. 

Lately, though...lately, he's been thinking about those words his ma had said to him right before she'd died, and it makes Daryl think that for as hard as he's been trying his whole life to not turn into his daddy, maybe he should've been trying just a little bit harder to not turn into his ma, either.

***

“That boy’s pissed off something fierce.” Aaron says to him the next day. They’d been tinkering away at their motorcycles in companionable silence up until that moment, but he should have known it wasn’t going to last that long. Silence never lasts long with Aaron.

Daryl rolls his eyes. “No shit.” He’s never been one for wasting words, himself. 

“Ya gonna talk to him about it?” 

“Did last night.” The hunter sighs, not looking at Aaron as he tries to find the right sized lug nuts in one of these oversized tool boxes. The stuff in this garage is the kind of stuff him and Merle used to dream about. He doesn’t think about how those wants had been _too little_ and _settling_. “Don’t know where we’re at.” 

“You’re talking about Carl, right?” Aaron says this carefully, because words are kind of his thing, and he’s better at hearing them than most people around here. These particular ones make Daryl stop what he’s doing. 

“I was talkin’ ‘bout Rick.” He clenches his jaw. “What about Carl?”

“He’s kickin’ up a storm ‘bout the way you and Glenn went off.” Aaron shrugs, and when Daryl meets his gaze that almost-innocence of his is shining bright as ever. “Thought you knew.” 

“Rick said he’d be pissed.” Daryl recalls his partner's words from last night, lost as they’d gotten in everything else that had passed between them. “Thought he’d jus’...y’know.”

“Get over it now that you’re back?” Aaron guesses. Daryl nods and the other man laughs. “You’ve gotta talk to him, first.”

“Rick did.” Daryl says. Because Rick always does. 

“Rick ain't the one who stayed gone three days too long. Rick’s not the one who came back bleeding and bruised. _Rick’s_ not the one Carl was worried about.” Aaron says that last bit like it’s the most important. 

“I’m not his daddy.” Daryl bites. It comes out harsher than he’d meant it. 

Aaron doesn’t get angry, though. In fact, all Daryl can read in Aaron right now is sympathy and understanding. 

“Daryl…” he says slowly, shaking his head like there’s something obvious going on that everyone but him can see. “That’s so far from the damn point, I don’t even know where to start.”

***

Daryl remembers the first time Merle had come home after being in prison. He’d still been living with his daddy then, through no choice of his own; though the old man had been off on a bender at the time so it really hadn’t mattered, anyway.

Merle had come back with a grin and stories and new friends and Daryl hadn’t known it then, but he was starting a pattern the two of them would follow for years to come: Merle gets out of jail, Merle and Daryl spend stupid days and hazy nights wasting time and nearly dying, one of Merle’s new friends takes something or another too far and Merle goes back to prison. And then the cycle, or whatever the fuck the damn book calls it, continues. 

This particular memory sticks with him, though, because it’d been the first, of course, but also because it’s the only time Daryl can remember seeing his older brother admit to being in pain. 

Ten hours out of the joint and Merle’s sitting down across from him, leaning back into their father’s favorite spot on the couch with a grin that soon thereafter turns to a grimace. 

_“Damn,” Merle says, clutching his side. “Those fuckin’ spinks got me good. Remind me to kill a few of ‘em next time I see ‘im, ‘ey little brother?”_

Daryl would have agreed to anything in that moment. Mostly because there was something about seeing Merle hurt – seeing Merle _show_ Daryl his hurt – that had resonated with the younger man. Made him feel included and important. 

Blocking out what had become of the rest of that particular summer, Daryl focuses on that one memory and uses it to help him now. 

Carl’s sitting on the roof of their house – accessible from his bedroom window – and Daryl crawls out to meet him there without being asked. He could easily hide the pain that bending his body to fit through that window causes him, but he chooses not to. He grimaces openly and hisses as he slowly lowers himself next to the sullen teen – who’s looking more concerned and less filled with rage at Daryl’s display. 

It’s not manipulation, the hunter knows – because, yeah, he definitely knows manipulation – it’s more like sharing a secret: _hey, I’m a little bit fucked up right now, but I’m trusting you with that, alright?_

A few of the things his brother had taught him hadn’t been totally useless. 

“Aaron said you were throwin’ a fit ‘bout something havin’ to do with me.” Daryl starts without anyway headway, once he gets settled in comfortable next to the boy. “Wanna tell me what that’s all about?” 

“Are you alright?” Carl’s looking at him all concerned like; too much like his father for his own damn good. “Spencer said you got shot.” 

“We had a little run in with…” Daryl trails off without warning. Having turned his head to look fully at Carl, he notices something. “You wearin’ my poncho?” 

Carl flushes immediately and ducks his head, a move that reminds Daryl so completely of Rick that he can’t help but grin. 

“Yeah. I, uh…I found it in…I didn’t mean to…it was cold up here, alright?” He sounds exasperated and embarrassed. 

Daryl laughs even though it makes him wince. “You keep it, kid.” He decides. That poncho had been Merle’s first, a lifetime or two ago. It seems fitting that the thing’s stuck around long enough to wind up somewhere innocent. 

“Thanks,” Carl says, and for a moment he doesn’t look too sure what to make of Daryl’s generosity. Then, all at once, he grins. “It goes good with the hat, right?” 

A blind retard could have made out the symbolism in that one. 

He grunts noncommittally. “We gonna talk about some shit or what?” 

“Why?” Carl asks, almost angry again but not quite brave enough to use _that_ tone with Daryl. “’Cause Aaron told you we should?” 

Daryl nods. “Yup.” He agrees easily. “Aaron said ya was pissed, yer daddy said you were pissed. ‘Bout the only person who hasn’t had a say so far’s been you. Wanna have a go?” 

Carl sighs, anger fleeing his posture and getting replaced with a weariness that’s not right on someone his age. “I just don’t like it when…when people don’t come back when they say they’re gonna.” 

Daryl sighs. “Know we didn’t have a choice, right?” He confirms, because he forgets sometimes how mature Carl really is. 

The boy’s stone cold _well fucking duh_ expression tells him everything he needs to know about _that_. 

“Right.” Daryl nods, and pulls his legs up just enough to rest his forearms on them. He wishes he had a cigarette, before thinking belatedly that smoking is probably one of those things he shouldn’t do in front of the kid. “Yer dad said you’d be all outta sorts like this ‘cause you were worried ‘bout us. That true?” 

He asks even though he already knows. He’d picked that up from Rick. 

“I guess I’m not really angry with you.” Carl says after a long pause. “Or Glenn, or even anybody else who was with you. I was scared you wouldn’t come back. Like Tyreese or…or Beth.” The kid swallows thickly and bites his lip. Daryl looks off into the distance and reminds himself that he’s the grownup here; he’s not allowed to go getting upset by Carl’s words. 

“That’s somethin’ that can happen these days.” Daryl acknowledges. He knows Rick makes it a point to not lie to Carl; he figures the same’s expected of him. Which is good, as far as he’s concerned, because he’s never been much for lying if he can help it. 

“I know that.” Carl says, though it doesn’t sound as harsh as Daryl might have imagined it would. “Y’know…back at the farm…” he trails off for a moment and fiddles with one of his shoelaces. Daryl keeps quiet and waits for the kid to get his thoughts straight. He’d figured out a long time ago that conversations are a lot like hunting. 

After a few minutes and a deep breath, Carl continues. “Back at the farm, my dad sat me down once and told me that people were gonna die. Him. Mom. He said…said there’s no way to be ready for it. He said ‘no more kid stuff’. People are gonna die and there’s no more kid stuff.” 

Daryl knows about that talk. 

_“I told him that everybody he loves is going to die, including me. I told ‘im there wasn’t time for kid stuff anymore. What kind of father does that make me?” Rick’s eyes are wide and pleading, begging Daryl to offer him something like absolution._

_The hunter grabs the back of Rick’s neck almost harshly and drags him forward until they’re sharing air. “You ain’t done nothin’ wrong in gettin’ that boy ready for this world.” Daryl tells him, meaning it more than he’s meant much lately. “Only way he’s gonna make it out there’s if he knows how to survive. Don’t you ever fuckin’ feel guilty for givin’ him that.”_

“Yeah?” Daryl responds, thinking that he’ll say the same exact words he had to Rick then to Carl now, if the boy needs to hear them. “What’da you think ‘bout that?” 

“I think…” he glances at Daryl, something unreadable in his expression before he adverts his eyes again quickly. “I think I don’t want Judith to have to grow up the way I did.” 

Daryl takes a breath deep enough to make his ribs ache, and then exhales all of it in one even go. “Maybe she don’t gotta. Stay in this place long enough, make it safe enough…maybe she’ll get what you didn’t.” 

He’s not sure if he believes that, but he can tell by Carl’s small, twitching smile that he might. 

“We don’t ever talk about how Judith might not be…that she might only be my half-sister.” Carl can’t even say the words right, but that doesn’t stop Daryl from getting angry at them. A fair bit of that anger comes from the fact that those were probably the last words he’d been expecting to hear. 

“ _Hey_ ,” he says it warningly. Because the kid’s right: that is something that they never, ever talk about. 

Carl shakes his head quickly, expression innocent and scared enough that Daryl knows this is about something important. “No, I don’t mean…I’m not sayin’ it now to…jus’ hear me out, alright?” 

And Daryl nods, because he hates that _please don’t fly off the handlebars_ look as much on Carl as he does on Rick or Carol or Glenn or anybody else – maybe more. 

“I just mean...well, that it doesn’t matter.” Carl takes a breath, and alternates between staring at his hands and shooting fugitive glances at Daryl. “I don’t think we don’t talk about it because it’s a secret, I think – I _know_ – that we don’t talk about it because it doesn’t _matter_. Not even a little. I don’t even know if anybody’s ever really even thought about it. I know I don’t think about it. Not really. I mean, I worry sometimes that when she gets older she’ll look like Shane, or that she’ll ask questions, but I actually think she looks more like mom than anybody else. Don’t you?” 

Hearing Shane’s name makes an old spark of deep seated hate pang in his gut, but the kid glides by it so quick, like something logistical and, well, _not important_ , that Daryl swallows it down easily enough. “Yeah,” he agrees. “She looks a lot like your ma.” 

She does, too. 

Carl grins at his agreement. “Anyway,” he sniffs a little and goes back to only half-looking at him. “It’s just that…since the world’s ended, it seems like…like that what people _do_ matters a lot more than…than their title, I guess. Like how I know we’re all family even though we’re not related. And, and when you guys didn’t come back, when me and dad thought you might be dead, all I could think is that it wasn’t fair that Judith was gonna lose another parent so soon.” 

Daryl’s not one for getting struck dumb – prides himself on being able to go with the flow of most anything, in fact – but right then a walker could have been half a foot away and he’d have be blind to it. All he can do is stare at Carl; hell, his mouth’s even hanging open a little, like a fucking simpleton. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” Carl’s face goes hard when he sees Daryl’s expression, and he unknowingly mimics Daryl’s own words to Rick from the night before. “You were literally the first person to do _anything_ for her. You saved her life. You call her asskicker. Her _first word_ was _your_ name.”

Daryl blinks a few times, trying to realign his thoughts and focus on what Carl’s saying. 

“That’s what I meant before. It _doesn’t matter_ that neither of you might not be her _real_ dad, because _real’s_ whatever we fucking decide it is now.” 

“Watch your mouth.” Daryl says absently, not really hearing himself as he chews on the implications of the boy's declaration. 

_"Limbo's just hatin' yourself, Dare-bear. Don't let no preacher ever tell ya different."_

Carl bites his lip, breathing a little harder than he should be for just talking. 

“I guess that's why I was pissed when you guys didn't come back.” Carl says this with an air of finality, and looks Daryl right in the eyes as he does. “Does that makes sense?” 

Daryl stares at the kid without breaking eye contact. The fierce determination he sees there is something he recognizes well enough from Rick – hell, from Lori, too, if he looks hard enough ( _“That’s on you, Daryl. That’s always gonna be on you.”_ ). And he knows better than anyone that it’s not a thing he can argue, even if he wanted to. 

_“There’s stuff you survive and stuff you live for and you’ve gotta know the difference, Daryl, or this world’s gonna kill you long before any damn walker gets a chance.”_

“Yeah,” Daryl nods once, and then smiles when Carl’s expression morphs into one of unadulterated relief. “Yeah, kid, that makes sense.”

***

“Hey,” he approaches Rick in the street later that night.

His partner’s wearing that damned sheriff’s outfit that Daryl hates so much, but his face is still unshaved. The sun’s on its way down, and the streetlights that remind them all so much of _before_ have just started to flicker on. Rick stops under one of them now. 

“Hey,” he repeats, eyeing Daryl with a weariness that he hates himself for causing. 

“Day go alright?” He asks, feeling lost at trying to make small talk, at first, but realizing after a beat that he genuinely wants to know the answer. He’d spent the rest of the day, after his talk with Carl, in Aaron and Eric’s garage, working on one of the bikes and thinking. Mostly thinking. 

“Caught a few kids tryin’ to hop the fences.” Rick tells him. 

Daryl snorts. “Hope ya put the fear’a no more god into ‘em.”

“We’ve been thinkin’ about comin’ up with a system for when things like that happen.” Rick tells him. 

“Like laws?” Daryl wants to huff at the thought, but then he remembers what that damn book had said about structure and stability going hand in hand, and he swallows it down. Rick’s looking at him all nervous like, because he damn well knows how Daryl feels about rules. The hunter decides to surprise him. “Might not be the worst idea.” Rick’s eyes go wide. “For the kids, at least.” 

Rick nods slowly, and a long silence passes between them. Daryl knows he’s gotta be the one to break it. Knows he owes Rick that much. 

“Never got to finish sayin’ what I was gonna say,” he grinds his toe into the ground, putting out an imaginary cigarette, “last night.” 

Truth is, he hadn’t known where his words had been going last night. He does now. 

Rick takes a step closer to him, “Wanna wait ‘til we get home tonight?” 

“Nope.” Daryl swallows thickly. “Gotta do this now.” 

When he looks, Rick’s expression is something in between terrified and resolved. “Say your piece, then.”

He’s steeling himself for the worst, Daryl realizes. For some reason, that makes him smile. Maybe just because it’s a rare thing these days, to be the bearer of good news. 

“When we first got here,” he says, almost exactly the same as he had not twenty-four hours ago, “you said you were gonna believe in this place enough for both of us.” 

Rick’s forehead crinkles in confusion, but still he says, “And that if you weren’t ready to I’d wait it out.” He nods. “I remember.” 

“Yeah, well,” Daryl kicks the ground again, but then looks up and meets his partner’s gaze. It’s a funny thing, that Daryl always calls them _partners_ in his head. Maybe it’s because he knows how seriously Rick takes that word. “I’m ready now.” 

Rick takes half a step forward and then stops, his eyes go wide and then immediately narrow. “Say that again?” It’s a demand and a plea. 

Daryl smiles. “I’m not sayin’ I’m always gonna like it, Rick. Not sayin’ I’m not gonna need some time outta here, neither, but you can trust…you can trust that I’ll always come back to ya here. Got that?” 

Rick’s expression is blank just long enough to make Daryl’s gut twist painfully, before a grin so wide his face probably hurts takes its place. A laugh, something like pure joy, erupts out of Rick, and Daryl finds himself grinning wider than he has in months at hearing it. 

“You know you ain’t allowed to take that back, right?” Rick sounds almost serious around his joy. 

Daryl just shakes his head with something like fondness, and gets close enough to Rick to put his hands on his hips, to press and push and pull until they’re leaning together, forehead to forehead, like they always do in the moments that mean the most. 

“I’m your partner, Rick.” Daryl realizes as he says it and Rick’s eyes go wide again, that for as much as he thinks it, this is the first time he’s said it out loud. Realizes, too, how much hearing that word effects Rick. “We’re in this shit together, a’ight? I ain’t lettin’ you go. Not for a damn long time.” 

Rick kisses him under the streetlight, and Daryl finds that _happily ever after_ doesn’t taste like a lie anymore. 

“’Til the world ends.”

***

_“How often have I lain beneath rain on a strange roof, thinking of home.”  
― William Faulkner_

**End**

**Author's Note:**

> Your thoughts are always most appreciated!


End file.
